Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 75633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Leaving me too busy holding my dick to reach for the paper towels.
My eyes flick to the clock. It's going on ten.
Shit.
I promised those motorheads I'd have their Harley engines rebuilt by afternoon. They're coming all the way from Dubuque to get them. Also told Mia we'd be going to the mall to get her new shoes, and maybe she'd get an ice cream for good behavior.
That won't happen if I don't get this crap off the floor and make sure she's fed. Right fucking now.
Against my better instincts, I fling the door open, screaming the three feet between us. “You want this job? Then get back here and help. This is your hands-on interview.”
Red halts, slowly looks up, a sour smirk on her lips. “You want to add anything to that, boss? I dunno. Seems like I'm crazy after all, chasing this nanny gig...”
Damn. She just knows she's got me by the balls. For a split second, I'm back in boot camp, the time the drill instructor caught me trying to sneak a beer. Worse, I mouthed off. He taught me how to clean miles of grout with just a toothbrush.
If there's one thing I hate more than asking for help, it's being punished for my own stupidity.
“Come back.” It comes out like thunder stuck in my throat. “Please, Red. I was too hasty, maybe. Show me what you've got, and I'll re-think this.”
Her eyes go to the frigid overcast sky, still mulling my abrupt change of heart. Come the fuck on.
“All right. I'm a believer in second chances. I'll see what I can do, Marshal.” She waltzes past me, into my house. I linger outside a moment, listening to her chattery sweet talk with my daughter while she cleans the floor.
It's times like this I miss the tobacco from my army days. But I gave that shit up years ago; partly for Mia, partly because I can't stand the other burning stench I'll never forget after my last smoke.
I take a few more placebo puffs of icy December air before I go inside, and see my little girl in her booster seat, Whiskey rubbing on her ankles. My death glare doesn't even phase the cat, who looks up and squeaks carelessly at me. Bastard fiend.
“Can you keep her company for the next few hours, Red? It'd mean a lot. Pretty easy to keep her busy. She's got a tablet in the living room, plenty of animal learning games she loves. I've got work to do.”
“Did we start the clock then? I've got the job?”
I hesitate for a couple long seconds. The worst that could happen is already over, isn't it?
If she's able to fill in like this in an emergency, then she's reliable enough. For now.
“Tentatively, yes. How does seventeen an hour plus expenses sound?”
“Fair. Glad we could work this out, Marshal. My name's Sadie, in case you cared.”
I pause. “Good. I'll check in sometime after noon, Red.” I avoid the name, shaking my head as I rush to my workshop to pick up where I left off.
Sadie lingers on my mind like a forbidden kiss.
It's a pretty name. It suits her. It's also way too fucking close for comfort.
Can't remember the last time I was on a first name basis with a woman. Not since Nameless, probably, that bitch who turned my life upside down with a little help from a busted condom.
Not that I regret Mia. I've never done that for a second.
Her, on the other hand, Jenna...
An angry chill bristles up my spine every time I remember her name.
For some fucked up reason, it also makes me hear Red saying mine. How she says it wrong.
She doesn't say 'Marshal' in the timid, subtle whispers like everybody else in this town, the rare times they aren't saying Castoff instead. If only I had time to care.
Work beckons and money threatens. I dive in and shut my ransacked brain up.
Or try to.
Another thirty minutes into the job, I hurl my greasy wrench down, grunting as I wipe my hands on a rag.
Fuck, I don't like this one bit.
I need a nanny, but I can't have her in my head.
My eyes drift to the ammo box again. I get the same sharp adrenaline burst I always do in my chest.
“Quit worrying, you assholes. This isn't another distraction. I'm not letting little red riding hood screw me over.”
Despite the rocky start, I'm able to finish quicker than I thought. It's barely noon and there's even time for lunch.
I head into the house to check on Mia. The rumble in my gut encourages me to fix a quick sandwich. I throw together cold cuts, mayo, and bread before I head into the living room.
That's where I find them. Mia, parked on the floor in front of the TV, her usual spot, humming a kid's tune while her fingers tap at tigers and elephants on her tablet.